


Sure Thing

by looneymoony



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ARE YA STILL FULL OF THAT FIDDLEANGST HARRY, M/M, srsly tho this kid is dying help him, this ship is going to kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneymoony/pseuds/looneymoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford's day is OK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written: September 14, 2015  
> Tumblr Source: http://looneymoonyreblog.tumblr.com/post/129061865401/sure-thing  
> I wrote fiddauthor instead of sleeping

Fiddleford paused outside his partner’s door. It had been propped open with some strange glowing rocks - most likely to allow air circulation - and as he peeked inside, he saw his friend’s backside hunched over his desk. His snoring could be heard even in the hallway. Fiddleford stifled a chuckle when he saw his glasses on the floor. He almost tip-toed inside to pick them up and put a blanket over his shoulders when he looked up at the door.

A huge single eye inside a triangle stared down at him.

…Right.

He shivered and instead proceeded down the stairs.

While Fiddleford had grown up on a farm and was used to waking up with the sun, his accomplice was far more prone to late-night calculations and rituals, which usually lead to very late mornings. Fiddleford didn’t mind, though. It left him time to make himself breakfast in the quiet morning light and also indulge in one of his favorite hobbies - music.

Although his parents had never been able to follow him when it came to mechanics, they were more than happy to teach him how to play the banjo. He sat himself down and pulled out his instrument from underneath his chair, kicking his feet up on the table. As he leaned back and began tuning the strings, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. He saw the sun paint the sky with oranges and purples as it sank below the horizon and saw the moon take its place, setting the stage for the countless stars that littered the night. He saw a sprout grow and blossom and saw it shrivel up and die, turning into the soil below to help another grow. He saw Stanford.

Stanford…

He couldn’t stop a smile from crossing his face. He began to strum a few chords. Stanford had to be one of his best friends of all time. While some kids had liked him alright at home, his nerdy and needy side had rubbed many of them the wrong way and made it hard for him to connect. With Ford, though, he could be himself. He could talk about math, physics, universal theories, music, peace, war, hate, love…

But there was one thing he couldn’t talk to him about.

He grabbed the strings, silencing them mid-chord.

Bill.

He opened his eyes.

Even at that moment, while Ford was sleeping peacefully away upstairs, he could feel the muse’s presence. Ford had tried to keep it a secret at first, but it was pretty obvious, considering all of the tapestries and scrolls and inscriptions and whatnot.

The kettle began to whistle.

He placed his banjo down on his seat. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, Fiddleford considered Bill’s motive. Ford insisted that he was a muse - a being from another dimension that had chosen him to inspire and help achieve his goal. But all of the worshipping, the candles, the equations beyond comprehension - Fiddleford never felt comfortable when Bill took over. It would be at the worst times, too. He would be having a personal conversation when those eyes would roll over yellow and that inhuman grin would spread across his face. It looked like Ford, but it wasn’t. It was Bill. It was sinister.

He leaned against the sink and took a long sip of coffee. Of course he’d tried assuaging Bill’s influence, but it didn’t help. Ford was obsessed, almost addicted to Bill. He’d confessed to having scopophobia as well, towards which Ford was sympathetic, but just as he was apologizing he started to laugh. He wouldn’t stop laughing. And it wasn’t Ford’s laugh.

He washed out his mug. He stayed for Stanford. He wanted to help him - both in building the portal, but also in case he got in trouble. He couldn’t say that he understood who or what Bill was, but something had happened to Ford between college and then, and he wasn’t going to let his friend get in trouble. He would stay by his side and help him in any way he could.

A disheveled Ford stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his six fingers. He yawned loudly and scratched his back. “Mornin’, Fidds.”

Fiddleford poured another cup of coffee. He couldn’t help but smile goofily. “Goooooood morning!” He handed the mug to his friend, who took it with both hands. He squinted at it intently for a while, as though he wasn’t really sure what had just happened or what he was holding. Finally he took a sip, and coughed. “Hot!”

Fiddleford quickly opened the ice box and handed a few cubes to his friend. “Here ya go. You alright?”

Ford took the ice and dropped a couple cubes in his coffee, putting the remaining on his tongue. He was quiet for quite a few moments. “Mmmmm-hmm.” He shifted it around in his mouth, still standing in the same spot.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

A pair of yellow eyes glared up at him. “We’re fine.”

Fiddleford almost yelped as he jumped backwards into the sink. Bill laughed his unnerving laugh. Fiddleford breathed heavily. Why was he here so early in the morning? “W-what are you doing here, Bill!?” he demanded.

“Well, well! You remember me! That’s a surprise. I wouldn’t get too used to that.” He still hadn’t moved. His shoulders were hunched forward, even his head looked as though it should have been hanging. Yet he stared straight at - straight into Fiddleford.

“What in tarnation is that supposed to mean?” The room had become absolutely freezing, but Fiddleford started to sweat. Those eyes…

“It means mind your own business, buster. Just because Sixer’s not here doesn’t mean I can’t see or hear everything you’re doing. I have eyes everywhere.”

Fiddleford looked around the room at all of the various Bill paraphernalia. Every single eye, each and every inscription and statue, all seemed to be focused right on him. He gulped.

“I-I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

“Jeez, do you humans ever listen? I just said that I want you to leave Sixer alone. We’ve got our own goals. I’ll tolerate your staying here, but you won’t get in the way of anything we’re doing. Understand?”

Fiddleford was shaking. The eyes wouldn’t stop staring. There were so many…

“I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” The house began to shake. Papers flew everywhere. Various utensils and dishes began soaring violently across the room. Fiddleford couldn’t move. Even the table was -

TWANG. 

Fiddleford gasped.

Everything froze in mid-air as Bill looked confused for a moment. He followed Fiddleford’s gaze and saw the banjo in smithereens. Bill smiled widely. He cackled maniacally.

“Oh, wow! Is that your guitar thing? Boy, that sure is smashed up good!”

Fiddleford felt as though he had swallowed ten tons of pure lead. Bill turned back to face him, grin still plastered across his - across Ford’s face. “Listen up, hillbilly, because I’ll only say this once. You’re replaceable. In the grand scheme of Sixer’s life, you don’t mean anything. Trust me! I can see the future! So don’t go getting any ideas of stopping us. Nothing you say or do is going to have any effect on him - especially when he’s got me!”

Bill was lying. He couldn’t see the future. And of course Fiddleford meant something to Stanford! They were best friends! He wasn’t replaceable - was he? Still frozen in place, his eyes drifted over to a photograph that was stopped in mid-air. It was a photograph of Ford getting his diploma.

Was he?

“He doesn’t feel the same way, you know.” Fiddleford shot his head to stare straight at Bill. The smile was gone.

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I know how you feel about Ford. I know-”

“Lots of things. Yeah, I get it.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” The house began to shake again. Bill was downright scowling now. He wasn’t showing off anymore - he was aggressive. Fiddleford had to hold onto the counter to keep his balance. He saw Ford’s diploma picture crash to the ground.

“You’re in way over your head, McGucket,” Bill began to hover above the ground - or was the ground hovering? He could barely tell what was up or down anymore… “You’ve already picked a very dangerous partner. Make sure you don’t pick a dangerous enemy, too. Are we clear?”

Fiddleford felt a single tear fall down his cheek.

“Crystal.”

Bill grinned sadistically. “Good, good! Then I know you won’t have to tell any of this to Sixer, either,” he glanced around the room at the mess that was floating above the ground. “Have fun explaining this, by the way. Don’t forget anything I’ve said. There isn’t one thing I don’t see. Good luck, McGucket!” His eyes rolled back in his head and Ford fell to the ground, as well as half of the contents of the shack.

Fiddleford regained his strength and ran to his friend. “Ford! Stanford, can you hear me?!” He picked up his head, but it lay limp in his hands. Finally he gasped to life. Fiddleford huffed and hugged Ford’s head to his chest tightly. “Oh, sweet sarsaparilla, Stanford. You gave me a mighty fright.”

Ford groaned and pulled away from Fiddleford. “Oof… what just happened?” He looked surprisingly calm as he surveyed the mess that surrounded - that is, until his eyes fell on the table.

He gasped. “Fidds! Your banjo!” He sprung up and ran over to inspect the shattered fragments. “Gee, how long was I out for? Did Bill do -” he was stopped by a sniffling noise coming from behind him.

He turned and saw Fiddleford staring at the ground, wiping away tears. Ford’s heart sank. He looked like a child who had lost his parents. He picked up some broken banjo pieces and ran back over to his friend.

“Hey, hey there… it’s okay, see?” He wrapped his arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder and showed him a few strings and pieces of wood. “I-it’s just a little bruised, that’s all. A little bit of glue and it’ll be…” Fiddleford continued sniffling. He wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Hey, you know what? Forget that piece of junk!” Ford threw the pieces over his shoulder. “We’ll make you a new, even better banjo, huh? It’ll be high tech - an electric banjo! Isn’t that something? An electric banjo, and it can also double as an oven - ”

Fiddleford buried his face in Ford’s shirt, sobbing. Ford was a little taken aback, but just chose to hug his friend. “There, there.”

They sat in silence for a while, surrounded by the rubble of Bill’s tantrum. Fiddleford continued crying and Ford rubbed his back. Finally, Fiddleford pulled himself away.

“I’m alright, Stanford,” he said, wiping away a tear. “I just got a little worked up, is all. I’m fine now.”

Ford furrowed his brow. “I’d hardly say this is fine. I think I ought to have a talk with Bill.”

Fiddleford’s heart skipped a beat. “N-no! Don’t!” Ford looked confused. He took a deep breath. “It… it was all my fault. I provoked Bill. He was just defending himself. It’s really not a big deal.”

Ford scoffed and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “What are you talking about? You’re obviously very upset. That seems like a pretty big deal!”

Fiddleford sniffed. “Really?”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Of course it is! You mean a lot to me, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford smiled meekly and began to tear up again.

“Heh… don’t cry, Fidds,” Ford pulled him in tightly in a hug. Fiddleford closed his eyes and hugged him back.

“I really am sorry about your banjo.”

“Aw, shucks. It’s not a problem. I’ve got plenty of other instruments to play!”

Ford pulled back again and looked him over. “…No, you don’t, Fidds.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “Clearly you’ve never seen me play the spoons.”

Ford laughed and stood up, offering his friend a hand. Fiddleford took it happily. “Really, though, I’m going to have a serious talk with Bill about this.”

Fiddleford’s stomach churned. “Really, I’m doing just fine. We talked it out amongst ourselves.”

“You sure? That Bill can get pretty touchy.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Would I lie to you, Stanford?”

Stan shrugged. “I guess I can’t argue with that.” He gave Fiddleford another hug, which was accepted gleefully.

As he pulled away, he gave Fiddleford a little peck on the cheek. Fiddleford blushed, completely frozen in place. Ford headed back up the stairs. “Would you clean that mess up, please? I’m going out to do some more research.”

Fiddleford raised a hand gently to his cheek.

“Sure thing…”


End file.
